The Son of Death, Ever So Close To It
by Ambiguousalamony
Summary: Nico has a bit of a fight with his father and runs off. Then he has a bit of a fight with a Harpy. Starving and wounded in an alley, and in no mood to crawl back home, he resorts to asking Percy for help when his would gets infected. Little-voice-in-your-head angst about Nico's lack of love life. Other than that, zippo slash. Graphic wound description and deterioration.


**The last chapter of The Eagle's Last Flight being nearly completed, I can put this up with a clear conscience.**

**. . .**

Nico groans. He's grumpy, alone in a dark alley, and hungry as all Hades.

Ya know what? On second thought, he's _really_ grumpy.

The son of death shivers under his jacket. Taking a quick look at the thermometer stuck to the outside of the garden store window, Nico growls something unprintable. It's summer, 83, and chills indicate a fever.

_Looks like I'll be paying Percy a visit. Great. Just great. _Nico snarls, dramatically throwing a hand up in disgust.

_As soon as he figures out I've got a freakin' hole in my stomach the the size of his fist, he'll call Chiron. Who'll call Daddy Dearest._

Nico spits onto the sidewalk at the thought.

Insults and rebellion aside, Di Angelo's legs are starting to get weak. He limps to the nearest alley. Unfortunately, a bum around Percy's age is sleeping there. Loudly.

Resisting the urge to put his hands over his ears, the King of Ghosts gingerly sits down.

_I'll just check the wound. If it's still bleeding or infected, Percy here I come. If it ain't then I stick around in the human world, try and work up some cash so I don't starve to death, and just wait this out._

Nico's stomach rumbles ominously.

_Even I can't live off a grudge for long, but crawling home to Hades ain't on the menu._

The boy sighs. Rubbing his eyes, he vainly tries to ward off the coming headache.

_You're concentrating on too many things at once. Think about what you're going to do later. Wound comes first, then food._

Left brain back in control, he lifts up the raggedy black shirt, the skull design hardly recognisable. He screws up his face, semi-disgusted. Good news: Bleeding's stopped, bad news: infection's started. He bangs the back of his skull against the brick wall.

The wound has turned into a gigantic black scab, purple bruises standing out nauseatingly on Nico's pale skin. Yellow pus is seen around cracks and edges, and a little blood still leaks out, but hardly enough to be noticed. The scab is one gigantic sore spot, not having had enough time to become hard. If Di Angelo's honest with himself, everything from his clavicle to his hips hurts. That Harpy did a serious number on him, landing some good scratches, nearly breaking his ribs when it flew at him.

Serves him right for letting his guard down.

_I don't want to do this. I'm not forgiving that windbag anytime soon, and that's exactly what Percy'll make me do. _

Well too bad kid. Life's tough. You of all people should know this.

Weak, sick, and hungry, Nico shadow travels to Percy's, the place of refuge he can think of not directly connected to Hades.

. . . . . . .

"Right. So you called the Lord of Death an impressive amount of names in three languages, ran out of Hades, and stumbled into a WHAT?" Percy, of course, is flabbergasted as he listens to his friend's story.

Yeah, friend.

The fact that Nico teleported onto the Son of Poseidon's dining room table, and summarily screamed blue murder due to a big honking wound minutes prior is temporarily forgotten. The two sit on Percy's couch, though Nico is starting to think sleeping in an alley would be better than facing the Demi-God Inquisicion. Thank . . . someone . . . Jackson's mother is out on a date.

"I stumbled into a Harpy. Lots of them floating around these days. Quite inconvenient." Nico snarks, not letting his mask slip.

"Dude, I've seen you fight. A Harpy's peanuts. You're Mr. Undead Army. When we spar in the practice arena, you're usually too fast for me to lay a hand on yo-" Percy stops rambling for a second, nearly hitting himself.

"Right. Fight with dad. Emotionally unstable. Off your game. Brain working now. And speaking of fighting Harpies . . ." the blue-eyed boy's gaze settles conspicuously on his friend's abdomen. Nico protectively places his arm over his chest.

"Be easier to get cleaned up if you'd stop leering at me." _Keep dreaming sunshine. You_ wish _he was leering.__  
_

Percy gives a quick grin, totally oblivious, and runs off. Probably to get a wet rag or something.

_Get over it Di Angelo. You've gotten over everything else._

_Sorta._

The wound's not as terrible as it feels, stupid bird just took a chunk of skin off. An admittedly huge chunk of skin that took a few hours and half a pant leg to stop bleeding, but just skin. No intestines nicked, can't even see 'em. Its finally crusted over and barely six inches wide.

It's nothing really. Just a little yellow. Nico must be insane to come here over something so trivial. He's just worrying Percy, and the idiot will probably end up ratting him out to Hades in the end, which makes this even more craz-

The King of Ghost's stomach growls, unhappy at being forgotten.

Right, eating. Not the easiest thing to pull off when you don't have the right currency, and U.S. Bank isn't thrilled about exchanging drachmas.

_Looks like I'll be sticking around. At least until You-Know-Who forgets about our little argument._


End file.
